


Unexpected

by Shadowsandchaos



Category: overwatch
Genre: Daddy Kink, Deepthroat, Dripping excitement, F/M, Fingerbang, Flashbacks, Forced Orgasm, Implied Size Fetish, Implied Voyeurism, Junkrat | Jamison Fawkes/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler - Freeform, Lust, Mercy X Junkrat, Nightmare, PTSD, Prosthetics, Rough Sex, Size Kink, Squirting, blowjob, daddy - Freeform, dd/lg, multiple orgasm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-04-05 06:58:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14038692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowsandchaos/pseuds/Shadowsandchaos
Summary: War against Talon is going full swing, and though it would seem Junk would be neutral to the efforts of both sides, he has taken the initiative to fight alongside Overwatch following the Recall. Discovers a connection to Mercy that is both unexpected and overwhelming.





	1. Night Terror

**Author's Note:**

> As my first post to A03, I thought it would be fitting to write a flick based on my wife and I meeting. Mercy X Junk isn’t as popular as some of the other, more prominent ships in Ow, but I happen to be really proud of what I’ve stared.

The sun beyond the floor-to-ceiling west facing windows had long since disappeared behind the distant peaks of the mountains, but Angela had yet to really notice the change of the light in her lab. She was focused on the data and graphs on the array of computer monitors before her and to the side of the extra long desk, deep blue eyes flickering over the statistics. The diagnostic run on her suit that evening had been disappointing, especially comparing it to the output only a few months before; something was broken, and she did not know where.  
  
Scanning the report slowly for the fifth time, she narrowed her eyes slowly, and clenched her jaw in frustration. _Power Output: Error - 100%. Defensive Systems: Error - 100%. Valkyrie Subsystem: Error - 60%. Cadence Staff: Error - UNKNOWN._ Glancing once more at the diagnostic reports from previous months, where all of the gear had come up with 150% or more, she was at a loss, and needed to get everything back online properly, or the team was going to keep leaving her behind when important missions came up. As it was, Ana had been covering for her, though she knew that Ana could never keep up with the pace of the attacks that Talon had been launching recently and could become easily overwhelmed.  
  
A huff that was something more like a growl erupted from the perfect fullness of her lips, and the characteristically calm and angelic doctor slammed her fist into the metal plating of the desk. The angle had been wrong, and the blow bounced more off her wrist than the side of her fist as she had intended, and she muttered in shock and annoyance, “Fuck - good one. Stupid! That’s not going to fix anything Ziegler. Stop being so fucking stupid!”  
  
Standing, she shrugged her lab coat from her shoulders, in favor of the plain black tank she was wearing underneath, and noticed for the first time that the only source of light in the lab was from her system monitors, and a muted glow bleeding through the western windows with the last glimmers of twilight far far to the west. She pulled a hair tie from the mug of pens and nick knacks along the shelf above her primary computer screen, and pulled her sultry blond locks into a loose pony tail at the nape of her neck. Taking a long, slow breath, Angela closed her eyes, and tilted her head back for a moment, trying to quell the roiling scream of blood screaming through her veins — knowing the angst will not help. Opening her eyes once more, and glancing at the diagnostic, she asks quietly, “Athena?”  
  
“Yes Dr. Ziegler?” The AI had been integrated into all of the Overwatch facilities following the failed attempt to steal the member database two years previous, her memory core encoded and stored in a remote location Winston would not share with anyone.  
  
“Run a modified version of my system diagnostic on my gear, changing the algorithm to enhance performance rather than seeking out the error codes.”  
  
“Yes Doctor.”  
  
“Oh! And Athena?”  
  
“Yes Mercy?”  
  
“Please do something about the lighting in here - it feels like a cave.”  
  
Floor lighting, and some small pot lights hummed to life around the lab - but not the full bank of LEDs that lined the ceiling, providing a soft light that illuminated every corner of the space - half workshop, half medical station. Angela flexed her right hand a few times, feeling the ache of the bashed wrist caress up the muscles of her forearm. It was going to be a long night.

——

 _The front line was faltering as more and more fell in twisted and mangled heaps to the Omnic assault. To his right, someone had grabbed a standard in an attempt to rally the remaining forces — but it didn’t matter how many of them fell, and the rally cry was cut short in a spray of blood and fire as the man took direct hit from a shell. The force was only a distraction, and they needed to carry out their duty to the letter, or it was all for nothing. Steeling himself, Fawkes braced his left shoulder against the boulder he was using for cover, and raised the assault rifle once more, letting off a vicious series of shots in only a few seconds. Omnics milled several lines deep in front of the Omnium compound, so it was nearly impossible to miss._  
  
_The explosion came without herald, rippling through the darkness of the outback first like an earthquake, and then like the rising sun on the wrong horizon. The initial blast wave screamed outward from the facility, bringing shards of twisted metal and concrete, and shattered pieces of the Omnic defences. Heat touched Fawkes face and arm a heartbeat before the shockwave — and then his world erupted in agony, thunder, and he was flying through the air…_  
  
Fawkes flared his eyes open with a start, and looked left and right, trying to find his bearings so he wouldn’t land wrong — then calmed slowly as he realized he was lying in a small bunk, and not being ripped to pieces by an explosion. The rush of adrenaline had already worked its way through his heart, and was thundering through his veins however, and despite slowing his breaths, it felt like molten metal was bubbling up from his guts into his throat. The sheets along side his right hip pulled and tugged suddenly, and he glanced down to see his mechanical hand flexing, clenching into a fist fitfully, stuttering before releasing, and then clenching again.  
  
Growling low, he lifted the metal appendage closer to his eyes, and tried to keep the fingers clenched into a fist and rotate the wrist and keep it still — but the servos that controlled the fingers and limb didn’t respond and the hand once more fitfully clenched and opened. After a long stuttering moment, a soft grinding sound started clunking from the wrist. For whatever reason, the sensors had stopped receiving the signals from his blasted limb, and the limb was acting on its own rather than merely shutting down.  
  
Swinging his legs over the edge of the bunk, and sitting up in one smooth motion, Fawkes grasped the attachment ring of the prosthesis, and twisted it clockwise hard, disconnecting the metal from his arm. As soon as it came away from his body - which powered the limb - the grinding sound stopped, along with the trembling and twitching of the fingers. The fight or flight reaction from the night terror had obviously sent a jolt through his nervous system, sending mixed signals through the servos. As he sat there looking down at the orange and yellow metal of the prosthesis he had crafted himself, the last vestiges of the night terror slid away into the darkness of his thoughts once more, and he felt despairingly empty.  
  
Wretched, lonely sadness whispered along the edges of his mind as the nightmare replayed in his thoughts, hand in hand with the memory it was based on. Normally, his reaction would be to guard his emotions with the veil of madness that he presented like a wall, protecting his mind and his heart from further injury and opening old wounds. The effort to slide into his persona was more than he wanted to bother with, especially when he was alone; he let the loneliness wrap around his heart like an old friend giving him a loving embrace, and felt the cold, numb ache seep into the emptiness of his chest. Becoming “Junkrat” didn’t always help, and he secretly revelled in these moments sometimes, using it as fuel, and reminding him who he really was, and why he would always need to keep his rage strong.  
  
Glancing around his small quarters, he assessed quickly if he had any of the tools he would need to repair the sensors and servos in the prosthetic — and realized that all of his delicate tools were in his workshop just outside of Junkertown. The only thing he had brought to Overwatch headquarters were his explosive tools, and the cleaning kit he used to keep his grenade launcher in working order.  
  
He stood gingerly, testing his weight on his leg prosthetic, and grunted in satisfaction as it held his weight and pivoted as intended. He pulled a pair of long black shorts from his duffle bag and slid into them, ignoring the selections of shirts as always. The summer air was warm, even in this part of Europe, and he preferred being bare chested - especially when working.  
  
Grabbing the malfunctioning, he slipped out of his single room quarters into the hall beyond, and listened for a long moment. Hearing nothing — it was the middle of the night after all — he padded as quietly as possible along the wide corridor, his peg clinking softly with every other step. Rebuilding the compound was slow going, but the primary facility was coming along nicely, for all the world as if it had not been destroyed by Talon years previously. Most of the team was on a mission in Japan, and would not return for days, for better or worse. Fawkes was one of only a few of the operatives left behind, and as such, Headquarters was quiet.  
  
Brown eyes narrowed in thought, looking over the delicate array of sensors along the cup that fit snugly around the stump of his arm, he considered how to reset the limb, and what tools were available in the lab that he could “borrow” to fix it. Halfway through the main upper corridor, he came to the medical lab, and pressed his index finger to the scanner, unsure if his security clearance would even allow him entrance. Surprisingly, the lock flashed blue-green, and the door clicked before sliding open, spilling soft white light into the corridor.


	2. Behind the Mask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fawkes wanders into Angela’s lab in the middle of the night seeking to repair his prosthetic, and unintentionally reveals insight into who he really is. Bantering almost playfully, they realize how much they are actually attracted to one another - chemistry being undeniable when proximity makes their restraint fall apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not to be taken as merely filler content before I get to the smut, I did try to delve a little bit into personality we do not normally see with both of these two. As a Junk main, I always reflect that I dislike the implications of him being an abject psychopath with no additional depth. For Mercy, always battling along the front lines and taking care of the team, I appreciated the little bits of insight into the fact that she has a lustful side, and a very heavily implied size fetish.

“Uh - hello?”, a voice like music rippled from the back of the vast room, and Angela turned quickly, standing in something like alarm, her blue eyes wide with concern, blonde ponytail whipping around gently with the motion.   
  
Fawks halted mid stride, looked up from the prosthetic in his hand, and caught his breath in his throat. Mercy was beautiful — he had been fighting beside her for over a year now, and this fact was well known to him — but he had never seen her look so casual and effortlessly beautiful as she did in that moment. Her lab coat had been cast aside, and she was clothed in a tight fitting black tank top, and a comfortable looking pair of grey yoga pants that hugged the delicate curves of her hips and thighs in ways that made him suddenly salivate with need.  
  
Careful to keep his expression controlled, Fawkes let his shoulders sag, and said more meekly than he had intended, “Evening — or Morning — depending on which end of the candle you’re burning…” He swallowed hard, and forced his eyes to remain fixed on the magnificence of the doctor's eyes, trying to disregard the realization that she was not wearing a bra, and the perfect swell of her breasts were gently rising and falling in time with her breaths.   
  
“Junkr— I mean Jamison; what are you doing awake? Is something wrong?”  
  
“Nothing so urgent that you need to bother yourself Doctor.”  
  
“Don’t be silly — what can I do to help?”  
  
Angela noticed Fawkes eyes flare when he walked in and saw her, and wondered for a moment if the insane explosives expert was creeping around in the middle of the night looking for something to steal — but then she saw the subtle flush spread through his cheeks as he meekly cast his eyes up and down her form, and then once more to the metal appendage in his hand. Thievery was clearly not on his mind at the moment, and she shifted her attention to curiosity.   
  
His shoulders slumped slightly as he cast his eyes down, bringing him somewhere closer to the usual hunched stance he adopted when they were in the field; but when he walked in and thought he was alone, he had been standing straight and true — which was startling, because she had not realized that he was almost as tall as Reinhardt! What’s more, the blush was totally unexpected; Jamison had barely spoken to her socially, and never said anything indicating that he fancied her or found her attractive in anyway. That was noteworthy, and more than a little exciting.   
  
“My arm— I had a night— could I … could I see if you have anything I can use to adjust the sensors on my rig here? It’s acting up, and all of my prosthesis tools are back in Oz.” More startling than the realization that Jamison Fawkes was actually a tall, surprisingly handsome man when he carried himself with correct posture, was his voice; the guttural snarl was nonexistent, and his accent was all but absent as well. Angela found herself surprised in more ways than one, and couldn’t help the inexplicable blushing in return as he lifted his eyes once more, and held her gaze confidently, awaiting a response.   
“Yes - Yes, just over here in this cabinet, and these drawers. What’s wrong with it?”  
  
“I don’t know, honestly.”  
  
“Well…. how is it _acting up_ , per say?”  
  
Fawkes strode fully into the laboratory, the steel door sliding silently shut behind him, and turned towards the equipment storage Angela had walked up to and indicated with a delicate sweep of her hand. He rolled the question around in his thoughts for a few beats, and swiftly came to the conclusion that she had already clued in to the change in his personality — it was hard not to notice a madman acting civil and composed — so the truth wouldn’t hurt at this point. Besides, who would believe her if she told anyone that the crazy Junkrat was secretly a well mannered gentleman and intellect?  
  
He sighed gently, and responded, “I had a night terror; I’ve had them for years. I’m sure you empathize. I normally sleep through them, but this time it woke me from a dead sleep. My guess is the adrenaline rush interacted with nervous system sensors; the fingers and wrist started moving independently. Figured I could reset them, or replace them with new ones…”  
Angela blinked, and her head came up slowly as he explained his theory, once again floored by how articulate the man before her was speaking — nothing like the wild explosives psychopath she had come to know while they were in a pitched battle with Talon or Omnics. The scientific part of her brain was also taking note, however, and as the junker detailed the problem, she turned and pulled open the top drawer, and began pulling out silicone sensors; a tiny electromagnetic fuser, and a small assortment of other tools. “Will these suffice?”  
  
Fawkes glanced over the components, and nodded slowly, squaring his shoulders and standing straight once more, asking gently, “Do you mind if I work in here? My quarters are rather cramped.”  
  
“Of course. Yes. I mean no — I don’t mind at all. Here, you can use this end of my desk.” Angela impulsively snatched the prosthetic from Fawkes, and strode back over to her desk, flicked on a small work station lamp, lying the prosthesis down wrist up, and began inspecting the deep cup where his arm fit inside.   
  
The outside of the appendage looked rough, like a clockwork monster scrapped together with old parts left lying in a garbage pile and lazily painted over (which it likely had been), but the synaptic and nerve sensors were almost as good as her own work, just not as high of a quality. She whistled low in appreciation, and glanced out of the side of her eyes, stealing a lingering look at the lines and curves of Jamison’s bare and muscled chest and shoulders. “You made this yourself….?”  
  
Suddenly, realization struck her like a train, and she scrambled over her words before he could respond, “Most of these components require very delicate handwork; and you’ve only got one. Would you let me help you change these sensors?” Fawkes remained quiet, his eyes fixated on the delicate curve of her jawline, and the little scoop her hair made over her ear, and nodded slowly.  
  
Flushing like a schoolgirl under the fire of that dark gaze, Angela pulled up a couple of chairs to the desk, and set to work, suddenly very mindful of his proximity in the otherwise very large work space, and how good the warmth felt as it spread across her cheeks. Reaching forward between her hands as she examined the sensor array, Fawkes pointed a long finger at a cleverly hidden pair of latches, and stated softly, “Lift those to release the array, so you can access the leads that control the primary servos.” She hummed in response, and flicked the switches, which allowed her to pull the prosthetic in two as promised.   
  
The internals and wiring were even more refined than she had assumed, cobbled together with parts from various omnic models and emergency medical equipment. Roaming eyes down the leads to the delicate little motors, appearing to share more in common with clocks and synaptic scanners than garbage, she mused aloud, almost not intending to say it, “You’re remarkable. This prosthesis is almost on the level of my work. No one has any idea who you really are, or just what you are capable of… do they?”  
  
“It’s complicated.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“No reason in particular, really.”  
  
“Heb dini Schnurrä! This is not some casual thing — hiding who you really are. Personality is not something most people act… so why?”  
  
As the statement tumbled from her lips, Angela released the components and tools, and turned her attention to look up into Jamison’s face fully, half expecting him to retreat a step at the force of her words and presence, but he did not. His reaction was the last thing she expected; calm, confident resolve.  
  
“The simplicity of your question veils the complexity of what you already know. It’s not so strange to present one thing to the world and keep other aspects to yourself — for fear of judgement, lack of empathy, or worse … disregard. Think of where I am from. Oz is a wasteland because of the Omnium. How many of the survivors do you think spend their time pouring over research, history, literature…?”  
  
As Jamison spoke, he inclined his head gently to one side, and eased forward slightly, pressing into her space rather than retreating from her, and finished his reply quietly, lips drifting down almost close enough to touch. “Some of us do whatever we have can to survive. And it’s as simple as that…” The proximity between them dwindled to a hair, and Angela could feel the warmth of his form literally radiating from him. The closeness also made her suddenly very, very aware of his size, reminding her how slim and slight she was in contrast to his wolf lean stature.   
  
The thought was all together pleasing, and despite the seriousness of the conversation passing between them and the circumstances that had brought it about, the sudden rush of desire washing through her hips and lower belly was impossible to ignore. She shifted backwards and turned back to the table, smothering a whimper as she felt her pussy beginning to drip greedily against her thin silk lace panties, and left the conversation where it was, blushing furiously.   
  
Fawkes stepped back after several long beats, giving her space, and eased onto the extra chair she had dragged over to the desk to watch the beautiful scientist work on the delicate sensors. True to his original assessment, the sensors had shorted from the irregular burst of fight or flight, which Angela expertly replaced with higher grade silicon inputs of her own design.   
  
“OK, that should do it. Let’s give these fingers a whirl!” The grin that accompanied Mercy’s excitement was heart wrenching, and Fawkes couldn’t help control the little arch of his left eyebrow as she turned and presented the rig to him, his heart suddenly screaming in his chest once more. He lifted his right arm and presented it to her, unconsciously flexing his bicep and forearm in anticipation of being able to feel his prosthetic again. Angela glanced at the expression on his face, and flushed once more, realizing the how flirtatious her words sounded. Once the metal slid snugly into place with the coupling on his forearm, she twisted and locked it into place, nodding encouragingly.   
  
Jamison flexed the fingers experimentally, opening and closing his fist several times, rotated his arm and wrist at the same time, and concluded the movement by flicking his fingers through a _come hither_ movement twice before nodding in appreciation. “Impressive… thank you Angela.” She hadn’t retreated from her proximity and as he lowered his hand, and his fingers brushed along the curve of her left hip and waist. She leaned into the touch softly, taking a slow, hesitant step forward against him, and breathed quietly, eyes bright, “You’re welcome….”  
  
His breath trembled from his lips, and the throbbing ache of his excitement began to pulse urgently along his thigh. Without thinking, overcome with desire and unabashed hunger for this magnificent woman before him, he snaked forward and kissed her gently, questioning, parting her lips with a slow caress of his mouth while the cool metal of his right hand curled slowly along her waist to her lower back, pressing their forms together more insistently.   
  
Mercy groaned as his lips touched hers for the first time, and her hands splayed along his bare lower belly before sliding around to his back and shoulders. They broke apart for but a breath, searching one another’s face for permission and understanding that the lust was indeed rampant and mutual, then came together with a crash of eager desire, kissing deeply, and unabashed.


	3. Angelic fire, Demonic passion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angela gets aggressive with her mouth, and gets rewarded with some well deserved stretching and squirting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had originally intended the entirety of the scene to take place in this chapter - but since brevity is NOT my friend, I will add the remainder in the next chapter.

Feeling her delicious curves crushed against him as her long, talented tongue rolled eagerly into his mouth was more amazing than he could have possibly imagined. He had silently lusted after Angela for as long as he had known her, but never in his wildest dreams had he ever expected to suddenly find himself crashed together with her in a lustful embrace of eager, mutual desire.  
  
Slipping his hands beneath the smooth curve of her ass, Fawkes lifted her slightly, pulling her lithe form up onto her tiptoes as they kissed, adoring how perfectly she seemed to fit against him and she pressed up against him. He started to grind the pulsing ache of his cock against her lower belly as the kiss deepened and became more urgent, his thick flesh straining against the fabric of his shorts, unable to smother how it would surge and swell in time with his heartbeat. Angela groaned as he began grinding against her, and slid her right hand up around to the base of his neck, snarling her delicate fingers in the tangle of his hair, pulling him forward to kiss her hard enough to bruise her lips, and began to grind back against him. Her left hand was just as greedy, and clawed along his lower back and hip, dragging thin lines of red in its wake where her nails dug into his lean flesh, before playfully dipping down and grasping at his aching length, tugging at his firmness through the fabric.  
  
Pulling back from the kiss almost reluctantly, Fawkes gasped softly, and looked down into the blue fire of Angela’s eyes, and growled gently, “Gods but I’ve wanted to do that since I met you…”  
  
Angela bit her bottom lip in response, lust flushing her cheeks pink, her full lips slick with their passion, and grinned mischievously as she slipped her hand beneath the waist of his shorts, wrapping nimble fingers around the base of his cock, and groaned. “I bet you’ve wanted to do more than that. Let’s see if I can guess what you fantasize about most!” And with that, tugged at the waist of his shorts with her free hand, and pivoted, pushing him sidelong into the edge of the desk and pressing him back against it while sliding to her knees in the same fluid movement.   
  
Fawkes widened his eyes for a moment at the display of aggression, and the arch of his brow returned for a moment as he returned the cheeky grin. He adjusted his footing, and leaned back slightly, getting purchase on the edge of the desk. He flexed his hands with anticipation, knowing what was about to happen, but grappling with the reality of it, and clenched his fingers along the edge of the frame, gazing down at Angela as she almost impatiently tugged open the fly of his shorts and wrenched them down his hips, causing the thick aching length of his cock to bob free and slap up against his lower belly.   
  
“Good gods you’re big — fuck!” Angela settled onto her knees, and curled her fingers around the base of his length, and gave it as experimental little squeeze while inclining her head to one side gently, taking all of his considerable length and girth in at once. Something like a whimper rippled from her lips, and she glanced up into his rapt expression, seeing him practically hypnotized at the sight of his cock throbbing next to the angelic perfection of her face.  
  
His mouth had slipped open slightly, and his breathing was shallow and ragged in anticipation, dark eyes like hooded saucers. It was all she could stand, seeing his lean muscles flexing slightly as his arms clenched the edge of the table, his desire pulsing in time with his heart in her hands — and hungrily took the head of his cock into her mouth, urgently, sloppy, groaning low in her throat like a purr as she tasted the precum already leaking out of him and spilling over her tongue like sweet and salty sin.  
  
Eyes rolling back in his head as she took his engorged flesh into the delicious perfection of her mouth, Fawkes groan of ecstasy was more like a growl. Angela expertly took his cock into her lips, not sucking at all, but letting the slick velvety wetness of her mouth add all of the friction that was needed, slowly easing forward and pivoting her head to the side as he slipped all the way into her throat. As she pulled back, the air made the thick coating along of her saliva along his flesh almost chilly, and it was delicious. Fawkes couldn’t help but lose himself in the dual sensations of watching his thick cock disappearing into her lips with the sensation of feeling it as she began to eagerly devour him. He gripped the edge of the desk with his prosthetic so tightly that the servos strained slightly, digging indents into the metal - while simultaneously sliding his flesh and blood hand into her hair, and pulling her ponytail free, and snarling his fingers in the silky locks that spilled around her shoulders.   
  
Angela pumped her hand up and down his length in tandem with her mouth, taking him deeper and deeper with every stroke, while her left hand splayed wide and slid up the taut muscles of Junk’s lower belly and midriff. He was close, and she needed it so badly, her desire rampant and sudden and overwhelming; she could tell he was about to cum from the gentle and insistent thrusting of his hips as she took him balls deep into her throat again and again and again. Fawkes clenched his hand in her hair at the back of her neck, back arching as he thrust forward into the warm wet perfection of Angela’s throat, and growled, “Oh god - oh god - I’m going to cum Mercy!”  
  
The sultry minx that she was, Angela pulled him from her lips with a purr, and began roughly stroking him with her hand until the first thick rope of cum splashed across her lips and jaw, then plunged him back inside her mouth all the way into her throat. She groaned eagerly as he climaxed, spilling load after load of slick hot desire into her mouth, salty and sweet. Fawkes flared his eyes open, and looked down, needing to watch her take him into her throat as the orgasm reached its peak — made a thousand times hotter being able to see her large eyes looking up at him, full lips swelling around the thickness of his length. His breaths rippled from his lips as his mouth slid open without thought, “Huh - gods — Fuck!”   
  
As soon as she was done suckling every last drop from him, Fawkes reached down and pulled her tenderly to her feet once more, and shamelessly plunged his tongue into her mouth, kissing her even more passionately than before. She returned the kiss with equal measure, adoring his eagerness, and the way he flicked his tongue against the seed dripping from her chin, evidently wanting to taste himself as much as taste her mouth. As she pressed against his form, once more standing on her tiptoes, perfect breasts crushed against his lean and powerful chest, he effortlessly picked her up.   
  
Sliding both hands around the delicious curve of her ass, beneath her thighs, hauling her up to grind against his waist and belly, and turned to deposit her on the desk he had been leaning against moments before. Breaking the kiss in a rush, Angela glanced to her computer work station and said huskily, “Athena — lock the lab door. Alpha level clearance: Ziegler.”  
  
Jamison wordlessly roamed his eyes along her face, taking her in, gazing openly where he had been so shy to reveal his lust and intent earlier, letting his gaze linger upon the remnants of his seed slicked against her lips and chin, then proceeded to give her a once over, adoring her breasts and thighs. Reaching out gently with his metal hand, he pressed his palm to her hip and waist, splaying his fingers wide, and slowly slid his hand upwards, tugging the fabric up with the exploration, revealing a little slash of her lower belly. Cupping one of her breasts with hungry desire, Fawkes edged forward and whispered his lips to Angela’s mouth, and breathed huskily, “What was it you said… shall we give these fingers a whirl?”  
  
Angela could only whimper in reply as Fawkes stepped back, and snarled his fingers into the waistband of her yoga pants and panties, and tugged them down her long, lithe legs with ease. Pulling the soft fabric from her feet, Fawkes bit his lower lip and roamed his eyes along her legs, noting with satisfied greed that her inner thighs and pussy were dripping with slick excitement already. He growled with anticipation, and slowly slid his fingers and knuckles along her legs from feet to knees, and then up along her inner thighs, encouraging her to spread her legs as wide as she possibly could while keeping balance on the desk.   
  
She spilled back onto her elbows, and complied with the encouragement, spreading her legs wide and pulling her knees up slightly, opening herself to him, vulnerable and bare. Fawkes ran both hands along her inner thighs, and gently pulled at her wet lips with his thumbs, spreading her open deliciously, adoring the creamy white slick as it distended with the small gape. He lifted his metal prosthetic, and made the come hither motion once more, asking permission. Angela bit her bottom lip and whimpered, nodding quickly, “Mmmmmf. Please. I need it - just be gentle. Please Daddy…”  
  
Fawkes growled as she called him Daddy, begging him to fuck her, It was as sudden and unexpected as the rest of their manifested lust, and hot as hell. He had previously not considered for a moment that she was submissive, let alone Little, though it made sense. The thought was fleeting, and vanished from his mind as he rewarded her soft and sweet begging. Sliding his left hand warm and firm around her hip, he held her in place, and began probing his metal index finger between her folds. The digit was thick, but smoother and more well cared for that it would seem, and thus slid easily all the way to his top knuckle with ease.  
  
Angela arched her back as he teased her, and tensed her legs to grind up against the soft stretch, closing her eyes and thrashing her head to one side as he slowly withdrew the first plunge and added a second finger, coiling them deep within her, flicking up against the soft ribbed flesh of her g-spot, and began to alternate fucking her and stretching her lips wide, and pulling and flicking his fingers back and forth in gentle, fast tugs, eager to make her climax as fast as possible.   
  
His tempo and rhythm increased as she began grinding forward, fucking his hand and fingers with vigorous eagerness, taking his fingers as deep as possible with every slurping wet plunge. Her breathing became absolutely ragged as he curled his palm against her clit and began rocking his fingers in delicate flicks faster and faster against her depths. “Oh-gods-right-there… I’m gonna cum Daddy!” He slid his left hand beneath her shirt and cupped one of her perfect breasts as she began to gush with a stomach quivering orgasm, and kept tugging with his fingertips in quick flicks on the underside of her pelvis. Angela squirted hard, spurting clear ejaculate and cum as she climaxes, splashing up above the metal prosthetic along Fawkes bicep and lower belly. Her pants rolled into one long squeal of delight as he fucked her with his fingers — but he wasn’t so greedy as to push her too much, and began to ease off slowly, letting the fire of the aftershocks ripple through her.  
  
“Such a good girl for me Mercy…. you did very well hun. I’m proud of you. Come here Lovely…” Fawkes slipped his fingers from her completely, and curled both hands along her back and shoulders, pulling her into an embrace, knowing that she needed to be held, and wanting it himself just as much after making her climax so hard and so quickly. She responded beautifully, and leaned into the embrace, clutching at his bare back and shoulders and caught her breath, slipping her eyes closed until the trembling in her legs and lower belly began to subside.  
  
Breath once more trembling from her lips, Angela grinned against the lean muscles of Fawkes chest and shoulder, and murmured softly, “Fuck I needed that… it’s been so long.”  
  
“Oh lovely… we’ve only just begun…”


End file.
